At age 25, mom had six children; one child after the other. I remember walking to school with my brothers. I’d look back over my shoulder and see mom standing at the window. She always had one child in her arms.
One hand holds the child,
The other –
Makes the meal,
Finds socks and shoes,
Packs lunches,
Combs the hair,
And readies us for school.
At the window she stands,
Her blessings in line,
One hand holds the child,
The other – Holds mine
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Monday, May 3, 2010
A lesson in Compassion
Yesterday, on my way home from work, I saw an old man; he was humbly dressed, wearing a red hat and sweeping a driveway. I thought to myself – I wonder if it’s his house (it was a nice house) or is he just the gardener/caretaker. Then I saw a young girl sitting on the steps of the house watching the old man sweeping. So then I figured he must be the grandfather. And then I saw a homeless-man shuffle by the house. Without hesitation, the old man stopped sweeping, reached in his pocket and pulled out a dollar, and gave it to the homeless guy. The old man just gave – no thought, no hesitation; it was the unconditional nature of the man. He went back to sweeping and the little girl went back to watching him sweep. And then I thought – Oh! I get it! A random act of kindness, etched into the memory of his granddaughter – Compassion. The old man is brilliant.
Eris
Eris is on my mind…
Eris and I met in grade school and although we went to different high schools we remained friends. Never dated, just really good friends. I just turned 51 years old and Eris has been on my mind.
When we were 14, I walked into my kitchen and there was Eris, laughing, smiling, and baking zucchini bread with dad.
When we were 16, Eris and I were driving downtown and she asked me, “Pat, have you ever been in love?” I said, “No Eris, I’m still working on my favorite flavor of ice cream!”
That summer she moved away. She moved to San Diego, but we kept in touch. One night, dad walked into my room with a phone-bill and said “How can anybody talk on the phone, long distance for 4 hours?” I said, “Dad, I made the call, but Eris does all the talking, I just listen.”
At age 18, she went off to college and I joined the Navy. When I was 20, my ship pulled into San Diego for a short visit. Standing on the dock, were three beautiful girls. Eris in the middle. The sailors were saying, “Wow, check out those girls, I wonder who they’re waiting for?” I was saying, “Excuse me, excuse me, coming through," and "I’ll see you guys in a couple days.”
On her graduation from college, I drove down to the University to surprise her. I walked the line of graduates until I found her and gave her 11 roses – I kept one for her mom (I was gonna need a place to stay that night).
Over the next few years, our own lives took hold. She married and so did I. She had children, as did I. ...And then, one day, she called. She said, “Pat, I’m not doing well.” She said, “I have cancer.” I said, “Wow, I’m sorry," I said, "I’ll come see you real soon.”
She died a few months later, she was 33 years old and I never got the chance to see her.
I’m 51 years old now. When we were 16 she asked, “Pat, have you ever been in love?”
…Well, my favorite Ice cream is Swiss Orange Chip… And I really miss Eris!
Eris and I met in grade school and although we went to different high schools we remained friends. Never dated, just really good friends. I just turned 51 years old and Eris has been on my mind.
When we were 14, I walked into my kitchen and there was Eris, laughing, smiling, and baking zucchini bread with dad.
When we were 16, Eris and I were driving downtown and she asked me, “Pat, have you ever been in love?” I said, “No Eris, I’m still working on my favorite flavor of ice cream!”
That summer she moved away. She moved to San Diego, but we kept in touch. One night, dad walked into my room with a phone-bill and said “How can anybody talk on the phone, long distance for 4 hours?” I said, “Dad, I made the call, but Eris does all the talking, I just listen.”
At age 18, she went off to college and I joined the Navy. When I was 20, my ship pulled into San Diego for a short visit. Standing on the dock, were three beautiful girls. Eris in the middle. The sailors were saying, “Wow, check out those girls, I wonder who they’re waiting for?” I was saying, “Excuse me, excuse me, coming through," and "I’ll see you guys in a couple days.”
On her graduation from college, I drove down to the University to surprise her. I walked the line of graduates until I found her and gave her 11 roses – I kept one for her mom (I was gonna need a place to stay that night).
Over the next few years, our own lives took hold. She married and so did I. She had children, as did I. ...And then, one day, she called. She said, “Pat, I’m not doing well.” She said, “I have cancer.” I said, “Wow, I’m sorry," I said, "I’ll come see you real soon.”
She died a few months later, she was 33 years old and I never got the chance to see her.
I’m 51 years old now. When we were 16 she asked, “Pat, have you ever been in love?”
…Well, my favorite Ice cream is Swiss Orange Chip… And I really miss Eris!
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Sun and Moon - a love story
This morning, on my way to work, the sun was rising on my left and the moon was setting on my right. I thought hmmmm., this is nice.
The Sun kissed the Moon today
The moon said. "You know Sun, I can't stay."
And then she set behind the mountain - sorrow.
As Sun whispered,
"I know Moon, but at least, we'll have tomorrow."
The Sun kissed the Moon today
The moon said. "You know Sun, I can't stay."
And then she set behind the mountain - sorrow.
As Sun whispered,
"I know Moon, but at least, we'll have tomorrow."
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Vista View
Vista ViewAt the edge, I close my eyes, I breathe and listen. It's calm and tranquil.
I do this - Because I can.
I open my eyes. It's beautiful. It's as I imagined.
I do this -Because I can.
I do this -Because I can.
And then, if no one’s around, I yell, the "Tarzan-Call" as loud as possible.
It's not perfect, it’s kind of funky and detracts from the moment
…But, it's who I am.
It's not perfect, it’s kind of funky and detracts from the moment
…But, it's who I am.
And I do it, because I can.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Mel Judsen
A long, long time ago...
One Thanksgiving; the family was sitting around talking old sports stories with friends. Dad started talking about Mel Judsen and about what a great athlete he was. He said, “I used to love watching Mel play football. He could hit people so hard. Boy, was he good.” And then he would say, “I remember when he played baseball, Boy was he fast." And then he said, "I remember going to the baseball park just to watch Mel play baseball. Boy, could he throw that ball.”
And then I said, “You know Dad, I was on Mel’s’ team.” And he said, “Oh, well, I used to like to watch you play too.”
It was funny.
One Thanksgiving; the family was sitting around talking old sports stories with friends. Dad started talking about Mel Judsen and about what a great athlete he was. He said, “I used to love watching Mel play football. He could hit people so hard. Boy, was he good.” And then he would say, “I remember when he played baseball, Boy was he fast." And then he said, "I remember going to the baseball park just to watch Mel play baseball. Boy, could he throw that ball.”
And then I said, “You know Dad, I was on Mel’s’ team.” And he said, “Oh, well, I used to like to watch you play too.”
It was funny.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
A Day to Remeber
A long, long, time ago...
As a child, we used to wander the hills of Marin County in search of adventure. One day, my friend and I were on an expedition for snakes and lizards. An exploit that would take us to one of the many small reservoirs hidden in the hills of Marin.
This was a day in which I will always remember.
As we climbed the road to the top of the Dam, there were several families standing at the edge of the lake; cautiously staring at a group of older boys, who were pelting the tin roof and sides of the delapetated wooden spill-well with rocks. It appeared, as though they'd been drinking and didn’t care much about anything, except the loud bang! the rocks made as they hit the tine roof.
My friend and I figured we could slip past them if we just kept to ourselfs, minding our own business. In retrospect, this probably wasn’t such a good idea. As we neared the rowdy group, they begin to yell, “Catch-em! See if they can swim!” We ran for the horse trail. While I was running, a rock hit me in the head and sent me to the ground. I was bleeding. We ran home.
At the same time we got home, my dad was pulling up in his car. He was driving the green Volkswagen. My father, a High School Teacher, and Coach, was dressed in his wing tip shoes, slacks, white shirt and tie. He stepped from the car and I told him what happened. He checked my head and said, "You'll be fine." Then sent my friend home and told me, “Get in the car, and take me to these boys!”
Walking up the hill, the same hill I'd left an hour ago, it was difficult keep the pace with Dad. every step he would take, I had to run a little, skip and hop just to keep in stride. Once at the top, we could here them - and they were still throwing rocks.
Ignoring the crowd, dad walked straight ahead. Even as rocks flew over our heads, he walked. It wasn’t until we were directly in front of the boys, did they acknowledge us and I thought, how odd and disrespectful this was and I was surprised that they weren't scared of my father.
My father spoke first, saying. “My son was hit in the head by a rock. Which on of you threw the rock?” It was a direct question and I suppose, if you knew my father, it would be in your best interest to reply with a direct answer. But of course, they didn’t know him and so there was no response. He asked again. “Which one you threw the rock?”
A frizzy haired boy, who stood in the middle of the group, stepped forward, and said. “Old man, there’s six of us, and only one of you, what are you gonna do about it?” And I thought, WOW – I’ve never heard anybody talk dad that way.
Dad looked at me and smiled, turned and faced the boys and then - BOOM!!!
Just like lightning, he hit that boy so fast and real hard too. He hit him smack-dab in the center of his chest, it sounded like thunder, loud enough to send ripples across the lake and loud enough to here a roar of approval from the crowd that gathered at the other end of the dam.
The boy flew over the bench, tumbled down the rocky hill and lay motionless at the bottom.
And then, dad said, “Now, there’s-five.”
It’s a day I will always remember.
As a child, we used to wander the hills of Marin County in search of adventure. One day, my friend and I were on an expedition for snakes and lizards. An exploit that would take us to one of the many small reservoirs hidden in the hills of Marin.
This was a day in which I will always remember.
As we climbed the road to the top of the Dam, there were several families standing at the edge of the lake; cautiously staring at a group of older boys, who were pelting the tin roof and sides of the delapetated wooden spill-well with rocks. It appeared, as though they'd been drinking and didn’t care much about anything, except the loud bang! the rocks made as they hit the tine roof.
My friend and I figured we could slip past them if we just kept to ourselfs, minding our own business. In retrospect, this probably wasn’t such a good idea. As we neared the rowdy group, they begin to yell, “Catch-em! See if they can swim!” We ran for the horse trail. While I was running, a rock hit me in the head and sent me to the ground. I was bleeding. We ran home.
At the same time we got home, my dad was pulling up in his car. He was driving the green Volkswagen. My father, a High School Teacher, and Coach, was dressed in his wing tip shoes, slacks, white shirt and tie. He stepped from the car and I told him what happened. He checked my head and said, "You'll be fine." Then sent my friend home and told me, “Get in the car, and take me to these boys!”
Walking up the hill, the same hill I'd left an hour ago, it was difficult keep the pace with Dad. every step he would take, I had to run a little, skip and hop just to keep in stride. Once at the top, we could here them - and they were still throwing rocks.
Ignoring the crowd, dad walked straight ahead. Even as rocks flew over our heads, he walked. It wasn’t until we were directly in front of the boys, did they acknowledge us and I thought, how odd and disrespectful this was and I was surprised that they weren't scared of my father.
My father spoke first, saying. “My son was hit in the head by a rock. Which on of you threw the rock?” It was a direct question and I suppose, if you knew my father, it would be in your best interest to reply with a direct answer. But of course, they didn’t know him and so there was no response. He asked again. “Which one you threw the rock?”
A frizzy haired boy, who stood in the middle of the group, stepped forward, and said. “Old man, there’s six of us, and only one of you, what are you gonna do about it?” And I thought, WOW – I’ve never heard anybody talk dad that way.
Dad looked at me and smiled, turned and faced the boys and then - BOOM!!!
Just like lightning, he hit that boy so fast and real hard too. He hit him smack-dab in the center of his chest, it sounded like thunder, loud enough to send ripples across the lake and loud enough to here a roar of approval from the crowd that gathered at the other end of the dam.
The boy flew over the bench, tumbled down the rocky hill and lay motionless at the bottom.
And then, dad said, “Now, there’s-five.”
It’s a day I will always remember.
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